Farewell to Freedom (9 page)

“A good friend of yours, I understood. Markus asked very politely if it would be okay if she came over to talk to Jonas and him.”

The pastor smiled when he saw Camilla's face stiffen.

“It's not a journalist,” he reassured her quickly. “And your son seemed very happy to see her.”

She relaxed and went upstairs to confirm it was who she suspected.

Louise was sitting on the thick cushions on the floor with one boy on either side, and when Camilla stuck her head in, Louise was explaining what the police usually did about abandoned babies.

Louise flashed a smile at Camilla and then continued detailing the procedure the police would use to search for the mother in hospitals.

“We go through lists of women who are due to give birth around that time. Using the lists, we contact those women. Some of them have already had their babies and are busy taking care of them, while others are still walking around with their big bellies, looking forward to the birth.”

Markus was holding Louise's hand as she spoke, and Jonas's eyes didn't leave her face.

“And then once in a while, we find a woman who no longer has a big belly and who isn't busy with a new baby—and those are the mothers we're interested in, of course,” Louise said. “But there can be lots of reasons why they don't have the child. Usually it's because the baby died before the birth or maybe right afterward.”

Both boys' eyes were wide and they were holding their breath.

Typical Louise, Camilla thought with a little smile. She was not dumbing it down for the kids. She was telling it like it is. And it usually turned out that that was actually what they liked best, even though the reality sometimes shocked them.

She went back down to the kitchen to help with dinner, and before she herself was even aware of it, she was telling the pastor about the previous night.

“I wasn't prepared for the fact that it had made such a strong impression on Markus,” she admitted, offering to set the table.

“Jonas woke up too, and came into my room. I suppose an experience like that will affect them for a while,” he said, and then added that Louise was welcome to stay for dinner if she wanted. “There's plenty of food.”

Camilla smiled at him and explained that she and Louise had known each other since high school in Roskilde.

“She works in homicide with the Copenhagen PD, and she's also Markus's godmother. Maybe I should have thought of it myself, asking her to come over and have a chat with them. But it's good that they figure these things out on their own without my help.”

As Camilla set out the plates, she admitted that the event had also affected her more than she would have expected.

“I keep feeling that tiny little body against me.”

The pastor poured wine and lit the candles. Then he gestured to the bench.

“Little kids who are suddenly left without parents always make a big impression,” he said, sitting down across from her while they waited for the rice to finish cooking. “They're so tremendously vulnerable.”

He explained that many years before, he had worked in a refugee camp in Bosnia.

“I had just become a pastor and really wanted to make a difference somewhere before I found a permanent parish position. My wife and I went and worked at the camp for two years, and it's never quite left me. Especially the children who'd lost their families in the war.”

Camilla didn't have any trouble picturing him in a place like that, but this was the first time he'd mentioned his wife.

“My wife died when Jonas was four,” Henrik continued, interrupting her train of thought. “She was born with a rare blood disease, which in the best-case scenario she might have lived with her whole life. But she wasn't that lucky.”

The timer went off for the rice, and Henrik got up.

Camilla watched him. He seemed as though he'd put the worst of it behind him. She felt safe in his company as she took the pot he passed across the table to her and he called the boys down.

Louise was in the lead when they came downstairs.

“We set a place for you,” Henrik said, gesturing to the table.

Louise smiled at Jonas when he invited her to sit next to him.

“That's so nice of you,” she said, “but I have to get home. I haven't gotten much sleep the last couple of nights, so I'm planning to turn in early tonight.”

Both boys stood in the kitchen doorway waving as she left.

“She was super cool,” Jonas said, filled with admiration as he moved over to the table. “She knew all about how the police work and what they do when they find a little baby that's been abandoned like that. Plus she was really nice,” he added.

Camilla could tell how proud her son was that Louise had made such a good impression on his friend.

“Maybe we should watch the news?” Jonas suggested, looking at his dad. “Maybe there's some news about the baby.”

Camilla got the sense that Henrik was about to say no, but shrugged his shoulders and then asked her if she minded.

Jonas took that as a yes and turned on the TV that was mounted on the wall. They were showing ads at first, but then the news came on, leading with the abandoned-baby story for the second day in a row. The first image was the blue towel that the police deputy superintendent held up as he explained that the baby had been wrapped in a towel just like it when she was found at Stenhøj Church.

The cameraman had done his or her job well—there was plenty of footage of the pastor's residence and street while the CSI techs were working at the church the day before.

“As we indicated yesterday, the towel is sold at Føtex, so we have little expectation of identifying the mother that way,” the superintendent said, answering the reporter's question with a discouraged smile before he changed topics.

Camilla watched her son dish chicken and rice onto his plate, his eyes glued to the screen, hanging on every word as the deputy superintendent explained that they had been assuming the baby was born inside the church itself because they believed it was a relatively short time between the birth and the baby's discovery. But without technical evidence to support this theory, they couldn't be sure, so the police were eager to hear from any witnesses who had seen or heard anything around Stenhøj Church in the early morning hours that day.

“Well, they didn't say anything about that when I talked to them this afternoon!” Camilla exclaimed in irritation.

“Aren't they going to show a picture of the baby?” Jonas asked, looking at his dad. “So her parents can see how cute she is?”

A second later a large picture filled the screen. Sound asleep, she was lying on a white pillow with all her dark hair surrounding her tiny head like a wreath.

Camilla felt her eyes mist over and hurriedly looked away when the photographer zoomed out a little so the viewers could see that the girl was lying in the arms of a nurse, who was saying that the abandoned baby was doing well but missed her mother.

Camilla was annoyed the police hadn't said that they were going to run the baby's picture on the news. Now she was going to have to go back to the paper and make sure that they had a picture from the hospital to print alongside her article in the next day's paper. And she was also going to have to rework the article to mention the police now thought the baby may not have been born in the church where she was found. If Camilla didn't get these latest developments in, she would be way behind the other press coverage when the paper hit the streets.

Just then the doorbell rang.

“Oh yeah,” Henrik said, standing up. “I should have anticipated visitors, what with the church on the news and all.”

He went to answer the door, and a second later he came back with a tall young woman with dark hair in a pageboy cut and a lot of mascara. She was pale and seemed a little nervous.

In her late twenties, Camilla guessed, starting to clear the table while the boys got up, thanked the pastor for the meal, put their plates in the sink, and disappeared back upstairs to their computer game.

She heard Henrik ask the woman inside and inquire what he could do for her. Camilla was assuming the visit had to do with Baby Girl, as the press had started calling the abandoned newborn, but the woman had come looking for work, obviously under the impression the pastor was looking for a housekeeper.

“No,” Henrik said in English, “there must be a misunderstanding.” He held out his hands apologetically. “I don't know who gave you that impression. But I will be happy to let you know if I hear of someone looking for one,” he offered.

The woman quickly shook her head and explained she had been referred to him by a friend of her family.

She pulled out a slip of paper that, sure enough, had Henrik Holm's name and address printed neatly on it.

The pastor sat down with the slip of paper in his hand. It didn't say anything else, and the woman didn't offer the name of the friend who had sent her to him.

“I don't know who gave you my name, and I'm very sorry not to be able to help. It's just my son and I living here, and I can manage the housekeeping on my own. But please give me your phone number. If you stop by again next week, I'll ask around to see if I know anyone who's looking for help with their housework.”

She shook her head again and looked disappointed as he stood up to show her out. Meanwhile, Camilla called up to Markus to say she had to go back to the office.

“He could just spend the night,” Henrik offered when he returned from the door. “You can just swing by and drop off his backpack before school tomorrow.”

He thanked her for loading and starting the dishwasher and apologized for leaving the cleanup to her.

“Do people often stop by the way that woman did?” Camilla asked, nodding at the front door.

“No, not often,” Henrik said, explaining that the people who did stop by usually needed to talk and didn't have anyone to talk to. Sometimes someone would spent a night or two if they didn't have anywhere else to go, such as a husband or wife going through a divorce, or people who were grieving.

Camilla looked at him and felt a flicker of admiration. She had a hard time finding the energy for that sort of thing herself.

“But this is the first time since I've been here that someone has come thinking I needed a housekeeper,” he said with a smile.

Markus kissed his mother good-bye and Jonas hollered a hoarse “bye” down the stairs.

“The hoarseness is chronic,” Henrik explained with a smile. “In the beginning we thought he would just get over it, and then when it didn't go away we assumed it was some kind of asthma, but he doesn't have any trouble breathing. It turned out to be a condition called multiple laryngeal papillomatosis, which causes little bumps on his vocal cords,” he explained, adding that you could have them removed with a laser if you didn't want to wait until puberty, when they would probably disappear on their own.

“I don't suppose there's any reason to do it if they're not bothering him.”

Once Markus had planted yet another kiss on her cheek and she was in the kitchen doorway with her jacket on, she thanked Henrik for letting Markus spend the night.

“If anything at all comes up, just call,” she told Henrik even though her son had assured her that he was totally cool with spending the night, even though he'd just had such a rough time the night before. “Markus says he's put the whole thing behind him.”

“I'll keep an eye on him,” the pastor promised and pointed out that his bedroom was right next to Jonas's.

Henrik held the door for her and waved as she left.

9

“M
ILOÅ  JUST GOT
P
AVLÍNA RELEASED
,” L
ARS SAID AS
L
OUISE
stepped into their office Wednesday morning, carrying the basket from the front of her bike.

She stopped abruptly in the doorway, her thoughts somewhere else entirely. She had managed to catch Markus on his cell phone while he and Jonas were on their way to school to ask if they had slept well, and both boys had assured her they were doing fine and that they had put their fears behind them. That had left a smile on her lips, but now she stared at her partner in surprise.

“Did you talk to him?”

Lars shook his head and explained that he'd just been out to the witness's address and that Miloš had been about to leave.

“He went into Spunk, a bar down on Istedgade, and it didn't take long before he came out again with a girl on his arm. Then they went back to his apartment.”

Louise watched him for a second from her desk chair before she said anything.

“Why didn't you say you were going to drive over there? I would've come with you.”

“Yeah, well, I wasn't planning on it. It just hit me as I was sitting in the car about to head home,” Lars said in his own defense. “If I'd planned on going, of course I would have told you.”

“And then what?” Louise asked.

“Then? Then nothing. I drove home once they'd gone in the front door. But it is totally repugnant that you can just go out and buy a woman like that.”

Louise agreed with him wholeheartedly and looked up at the clock. They had an office lunch every Wednesday, and it was their team's turn to provide the food this week, so she'd stopped by Hauen Bakery on her way in and filled her bike basket with Danish bread and rolls.

“We'd better go put some coffee on,” she said, getting up.

“Done,” Lars said. “I also tidied up the kitchen and emptied the dishwasher.”

Louise sat down again. “What the hell's up with you? Is something wrong at home?” she asked. Not that Lars usually shirked his share of kitchen duty, but they usually did the less-than-appealing clean-up together. Each team was responsible for making sure the lunchroom was clean and for running the dishwasher during their assigned week.